Across The Line
by AliceTheBrave
Summary: In this desert, in darkness, lying with the gun across his chest. Pretending he's heartless. As the fire flashes in the sky. He was fragile and frozen when the bullet took away his friend, and now he's somehow more broken. He's pulling his weapon to his side, loading it full of his goodbyes. Holding an enemy across the line. Eternal Series.


The wind howled and screeched in the night, unrelenting against the crumbling walls of a lonely and desolate town. The desert sand whirled and writhed in the air, greedily seeking out any crevice of refuge to hide itself in. Seemingly trying to escape the dark and empty desert night in which it resided. A howl echoed through the wasteland, seeming to come from all directions. The sound an omen of death. The full moon shone brightly over the small, empty, crumbling remains of a home and the hell in which it lay, casting grotesque and macabre shadows on everything below.

The men inside the shadowed structure lay alert and awake in the eerie night. Three of them lie in various positions along the north wall, none of them looking comfortable. All of them covered in an assortment of untreated scrapes and cuts. Another man lie stretched out in the middle of the room, heavily injured and panting for the air he couldn't seem to catch. He was the only one whose wounds had been tended to. Covered in bandages heavily on both the left side of his face and his abdomen, it was clear his wounds were extensive. They were all dressed in heavy battle gear. Kevlar vests filled with pathetic amounts of ammunition, grenades, knives, and any other weapons they could carry. They all wore grim expressions on their worn and desolate faces. It was obvious that they had been in a battle of some kind, and they had not come out unscathed.

One of these men sat staring at the man lying on the floor. His gaze flickered over his damaged and bloody body. He knew he wouldn't make it. Not this time. Unable to look at his dying comrade any longer, his gaze flickered to the other man in the room. The reason they were all there in the first was one more man in the small room, leaning against the south wall directly under the only window in the building. He too was riddled with wounds and dressed in the heavy Kevlar and desert camouflage that had become their uniform. But unlike the others, his face held no trace of fear, regret, or pain. He simply stared blankly out the window at the empty expanse encasing them. He showed no emotion, no feeling, no regret for bringing them here, for getting them involved in this mess. No regret for getting involved himself, no fear for his own life or safety. Nothing. The man was cold. Empty. _Heartless._

Noticing the gaze on him the man turned toward him slowly. He flinched slightly at being caught. He seriously hoped he hadn't offended him. Not that he actually cared what the man thought of him, simply because he had seen the way the man fought. He had seen his skill, his style, his speed. The way he attacked people seemingly unprovoked only to pull a hidden weapon from the clutches of the corpse. They way he had lulled their enemies into false security, made them think he wasn't a threat, the way he had smiled convincingly at them and joked and laughed, only to end their lives as soon as the opportunity arose. They way he would play the part of the fool, oblivious, innocent, and dense. They way he would make you realize that, _no_, he wasn't a fool. He knew exactly what was happening; he knew even more than you did. The way he changed from a laughing idiot that was the life of the party to a cold-blooded killer in a fraction of a second.

He shivered slightly as the man simply stared at him, his eyes trailing over him. Searching, appraising. _Looking for a weakness._ He realized with a start. Seemingly, noticing his sudden nervousness, the man smiled that bright smile at him. The same smile he used when they met for the first time. The same smile he used when they embarked on this journey. The same smile he used on the enemy. He suddenly realized that the man _knew. _He _knew_ this would happen. He knew they wouldn't all make it out. He knew most of them would die. He _knew_.

Suddenly seized by intense rage he made to move, to stand up, to grab his gun, to scream at him, to accuse him, to do _something_... but he stopped. The man had quietly and slowly lifted his hand to his face. His left index finger in front of his lips. The universal symbol for, _be quiet_. The man slowly moved his hand toward the man lying on the floor, struggling for breath, suffering in pain. Confused and angry he looked quickly between the two, before realizing what the man was trying to tell him.

_Not now. Don't cause him stress now. Let him go in peace._

He opened his mouth, prepared to say something, to ask him why, after all he'd done, why did he care now? But he never got the chance. Suddenly the sky exploded into flames. The ground shook underneath them and smoke-filled the air. The others quickly jumped to their feet, guns at the ready. He too was in a defensive position, weapon pointed firmly at the door. Slowly the man beneath the window stood and while casually dusting off his pants calmly said, 'They've found us. That was pretty quick. I'm impressed.'

All eyes in the building were trained on him, the previous anger and resentment forgotten. 'What now?' He asked. The man looked him in the eyes and grinned slowly.

'Now, my friend, we go out with a bang.'

* * *

><p>The shadows danced across the barren crumbling town as he stared out at the sand around them. He could hear the labored breathing of his comrade even over the howling of the wind. He closed his eyes and listened to both sounds, trying to etch these memories into his mind and push them back into the dark recesses where he would never see them again. He wondered, not for the first time if this was the right choice. Bringing these men out here; new additions to his family, barely out of the mafia academy. Then he remembered why he was here in the first place. Revenge.<p>

He still remembered the day when his best friend was lost. He remembered the blood, the scream of Robert's sister as the only family she had left died. The look on his face as he screamed at him to run, to take his sister and get out. To get the hell _out of there._ He remembered how he couldn't move, how he was frozen to the ground where he sat, a crumpled mess, as the bullet tore through his best friend. He remembered how he had stared wide-eyed and numb at the empty eyes of the one man he trusted more than anyone. He remembered how he hadn't moved until Megan's scream had ripped through the air.

He forcefully ripped himself out of his memories. Now wasn't the time. He had to get out of here. He had to get as many of these men out of here as he could. He knew the injured man in the middle of the room wouldn't make it. Alic was his name, if he remembered correctly. Twenty-nine years old, with a young wife waiting back home. To bad he wouldn't see her again. Somehow he felt envious of him. Only slightly though, the thought of death, granted comforting, wasn't entirely appealing to him at the moment. Never seeing the women you loved again until she too died wasn't very appealing either.

He thought that was funny. He really did. How broken must he be to think of his own death so lightly? He supposed it wouldn't matter. When he got home he would be able to hold the woman he loved in his arms again. He'd be able to tell her that he had avenged them. That their friends hadn't died in vain. She would give him that look again. The one that she used when she wanted to be happy but just couldn't. Maybe she would cry. Maybe she would be angry at him. But he knew that she would move on. And so would he. They would move on together and they would be happy. Eventually; not right away, but eventually.

He was torn from his musings by the stare of one of his men. Vicctorio, if he remembers correctly. Him and Alic were friends or something of the sort. He always made a point to remember the names of his men. Always. Vicctorio was glaring at him coldly, but flinched as he turned his gaze toward him. Panic flickered through his eyes for a brief moment. Disregarding Vicctorio's jumpiness he looked him over; scanning for wounds. Gauging how long he would last. What he saw wasn't very hopeful. Noticing the tenseness in the man's body, he gave him an easy smile. One had used for years. His fiancée had come to call it his 'professional smile' even though most considered it to be nothing of the sort. It was too warm, too friendly, too disarming. And that's just what it was used for. He used it to get close to people, to gain their trust, to calm and reassure them.

However Vicctorio was smarter than he had given him credit for. He saw through the smile. He saw through the reassurance. He saw that he knew. He knew exactly how risky this mission was. He knew exactly how many and which men would die. He knew all along that Alic would die. He knew and yet he did nothing. because that was the price of being a leader. You had to be able to sacrifice men, good men, to obtain your objective. That's just how this business worked. How the world worked. And he hated it. Still he played by these rules so he could survive and protect his own. He was a monster and he wouldn't deny it.

He would sully his hands with blood while thinking of his home and the people he loved. He would remember the screams and pleads of all those he killed, directly or not, and he would burn them into the depths of his mind where he could pretend they didn't exist. He would memorize the name of every man, women, or child he had ever killed or let die and he would write it in his journal. He would go home, soaked in blood, visible only to him, and hold his waiting fiancée. He would be glad he did what he did because he was able to stay by her side. He would wake up in the middle of the night with their screams resounding through his mind and he would let her lull back to sleep. He would wake up every morning and go to sleep every night hating himself only for her to love him regardless. And the worst part, the most sickening thing was, he was okay with that.

He saw the hate he knew all to well fill Vicctorio's eyes as he mad to reach for his gun and stand. Without hesitating he hushed the man like a child and pointed Alic. Poor, dying, Alic. He saw Vicctorio glance confusedly from him to the dying man and tried to convey what he meant with his eyes. _Let the poor man die in peace. We can do this later. Hate me all you want, but the least we can do for him is let him go in peace._

He saw him open mouth and heard the beginning of a word, but was distracted by a flash of light and the smell of smoke. The earth rumbled and he smirked. The others jumped into action, excluding poor dying Alic. He slowly stood up and brushed off his pants, despite knowing he would never completely get the sand out of them. Noticing them all looking to him he spoke, calmly and surely, 'They've found us. That was pretty quick. I'm impressed.'

Vicctorio looked at him, all traces of resentment forgotten. 'What now?' He asked. He looked at him and let a smile slip onto his face. Now he got to work.

'Now, my friend, we go out with a bang.'


End file.
